For weeks, I barely slept. I spent my nights glued to the security cameras, watching every shadow, every flicker of movement. I set traps, double-checked the locks, and counted every item on my shelves. Someone was stealing from my small grocery store, and I was determined to catch them.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for what I found when I finally did.
Most people my age were thinking about retirement—buying a little house in Florida, going on long vacations, maybe even picking up a new hobby. But not me. I wasn’t ready to slow down. My store was my life.
Owning a small grocery store meant there was no such thing as rest. It was early mornings, late nights, heavy lifting, and endless work. But I loved it. I had been running this store for years, watching my customers grow from kids to adults with families of their own. My store wasn’t just a place to buy food—it was part of the community, part of their lives, and part of mine.
But lately, something was wrong. I started noticing little things missing from the shelves. At first, I thought maybe I had miscounted, but no—I knew my stock inside and out. Something wasn’t adding up.
One morning, Mr. Green, one of my oldest customers, came up to the counter with his small basket. He gave me his usual friendly smile.
“How are you doing today, Margaret?” he asked.
I forced a smile. “I’m fine, thank you. How about you?”
“I’m good,” he said, then hesitated. “But I noticed something. There’s not much dairy on the shelves today. You always have the best selection in town.”
I frowned. “That can’t be right. I stocked the whole section just yesterday. Every last shelf.”
He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Maybe you missed something. Or maybe it’s time to slow down. Have you ever thought about passing the store on to someone else? Do you have kids?”
His words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I stiffened, my heart skipping a beat.
“No,” I said firmly. “Goodbye, Mr. Green.” I bagged his items and handed them to him without another word.
Children.
I had a daughter once. Just one. She ran away from home fifteen years ago. No phone call. No goodbye. Just a note, saying she was leaving to start a new life.
I searched for her everywhere. I called the police, begged them to help, but they said she had left on her own. She wasn’t missing, just… gone.
I shook my head and forced myself back to the present. I walked over to the dairy fridge, my pulse racing. It was still early, and hardly anyone had been in yet.
Rows of yogurt, milk, and cheese—gone.
This wasn’t forgetfulness. This wasn’t bad math. Someone was stealing from me.
I had always trusted people. That was why I never installed cameras. But now, I had no choice. The next day, I had them put in, even though it cost me a lot. That night, I sat in the back of the store, watching the footage.
At first, it looked normal. An empty store. Stillness. Darkness. Then, a shadow. A figure moved quickly, quietly, taking things off the shelves. They wore a hood pulled low over their face. I clicked through the footage, hoping to see their face, but somehow, they always stayed hidden.
Enough was enough. I took the footage to the police.
“So,” the officer said, leaning back in his chair, “what do you want from us?”
I stared at him. “What do I want? I want you to do your job! Someone is breaking into my store and stealing my products. I want you to catch them.”
He sighed and pointed at the screen. “You can’t even see their face. They’re wearing a hood the whole time. We don’t have anything to go on.”
I clenched my fists. “That’s your job! To find clues!”
“My advice?” He shrugged. “Get an alarm system.”
I scoffed, grabbed my flash drive, and stormed out. Useless.
But I still got the alarm system installed.
For a few nights, nothing happened. The shelves stayed full. I started to breathe easier.
Then, one morning, I walked in and froze. More items were missing. Yet the alarm had never gone off.
My stomach twisted into knots. I had enough. If no one would help me, I would help myself.
That night, I closed the shop like always, turned off the lights, and walked out the front door.
But I didn’t go home. I circled around to the back, unlocked the rear door, and slipped inside. I crouched behind the counter and waited.
Hours passed. Silence. Then, the door creaked. The alarm beeped off.
My heart pounded. I peeked up and saw the figure again, moving through the aisles. Small. Quick. Quiet.
I crept forward. Step by step. Then—I lunged, grabbing the hoodie.
“Got you!” I yelled.
The person struggled. I yanked back the hood.
A boy. Fourteen, maybe. Thin. His eyes locked with mine.
Eyes I knew.
“Who are you?” I gasped. “Why are you stealing from me?”
He said nothing. Then, in a quick move, he slipped out of the hoodie and ran. I tried to follow, but I couldn’t keep up. I stood there, panting, the hoodie clutched in my hands.
Those eyes… They were my daughter’s eyes.
I had to know who he was. I watched the streets, looking for him. And one evening, I saw him. A hoodie, a bicycle, slipping into a small house.
I followed.
My hands were shaking as I knocked on the door. Footsteps. Then—it opened.
And there she was.
My daughter.
“Alice…” I whispered.
Her eyes widened. “Mom?”
She looked older. Tired. But it was her.
“You were here all along?” My voice trembled.
She looked down. “Not always. I moved around a lot.”
I held up the hoodie. “Where did you get this?”
Her face went pale. “That’s Travis’s hoodie. My son.”
A boy stepped into the hallway—the same boy who had stolen from me.
“Mom, close the door!” he whispered urgently.
I took a shaky breath. “Travis has been stealing from my store.”
“WHAT?!” Alice turned to him. “Travis, is that true?”
He looked at the floor. “We never have enough money. I thought I was helping.”
Alice covered her face. “Stealing is never the answer.”
She turned to me, tears in her eyes. “I was ashamed. I thought you hated me.”
“Oh, Alice.” My voice broke. “You’re my daughter. How could I ever hate you?”
I pulled her into my arms, and for the first time in fifteen years, I felt whole again.
Travis hung his head, ashamed. But in my heart, I silently thanked him. If he hadn’t stolen from me, I would have never found my family again.
